My gaze snaps back to his. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t go there,” he replies. “Not now.”
My jaw stiffens, “You don’t even know where I’m going.”
“Yeah, I do,” he smirks. “She’s not part of this case.”
“She’s already part of it,” I say.
Mason shakes his head. “No,” he counters. “She’s adjacent. There’s a difference.”
Not anymore, not after last night. “She’s seen the victims,” I argue. “She’s heard what they’ve said. She-”
“Exactly,” he cuts in. “She’s a witness to the aftermath. Not a victim.”
I barely keep my fists from clenching, solely because they’re on my desk and he’ll see it and know that he got a rise out of me. “She’s exactly what they’re looking for.”
Mason holds my gaze. “So you keep an eye on her, but you don’t start spiraling about ‘what ifs’.”
Mason watches me for a long second, then leans back, exhaling softly. “Get your head straight,” he says. “We’ve got enough to work with without you losing your mind.”
I nod once because he’s right. Again. But that doesn’t make it easier.
My gaze drops back to the files between us, to the photos, financials, and all the pieces of something bigger that we’re still trying to see clearly.
York. The name lingers. He’s a shadow without a face, but not for long.
“We’ll find him,” I say.
Mason nods. “Yeah.”
We just have to figure out how without me going off the deep end.
Chapter 25
Alex
The fluorescent lights of the precinct bullpen hum overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. Mason's red hair is a stark contrast against the gray filing cabinets as he slams a folder down on my desk, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
“You're not going to believe this,” he says, dropping into the chair opposite mine. “Forensics finished tracing those shell companies from the financials.”
I lean back, rubbing my eyes. “Let me guess. More dead ends?”
“Wrong.” He flips open the folder, pushing a stack of bank transfer records toward me. “See this name? Rivers? It keeps showing up. Not just in the money trail, but in facial rec from CCTV in the areas of the kidnappings too. Our CI mentioned it yesterday, said Rivers must be one of the main guys handling the 'merchandise' transfers.”
I scan the documents, my focus sharpening. “Rivers... where have I heard that before?”
“Probably because we've been looking at it for three weeks without connecting the dots,” Mason says, running a hand through his hair. “He's not just a money guy. He's hands-on. The CI says Rivers is the one who moves the women from location to location.”
That gets my full attention. “He has a fixed address?”
“Owns a location in the warehouse district downtown. But here's the thing-” Mason leans forward, lowering his voice “-our CI says Rivers is paranoid. Changes locations every few weeks. But he's got a standing appointment every Tuesday at the warehouse on Elm.”
I check my watch. “Today's Tuesday.”
Mason nods. “And our CI says Rivers is expecting a delivery tonight. Medical supplies.”
The pieces start clicking into place. “Succinylcholine.”
